


You Will Fly To Him

by Impala_Chick



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Asphyxiation, Background Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Blow Jobs, Clark Kent unfaithful to Lois Lane, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne is endgame, Dirty Talk, Dressed sex, Getting Together, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Infidelity, Interpersonal Drama, Kryptonian Quirks, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, One Night Stands, POV Bruce Wayne, Pining, Post-Canon, Returning from the Dead, Secret Identity, Seductive Steve Rogers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Suit Sex, Survivor Guilt, The Avengers are more famous than Batman in this, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick
Summary: “You know what’s funny? Lex said I would fly to you,” Clark mused out loud.“Among other things, I’m sure.” Bruce rolled his eyes. It would be fine by him if they never mentioned Lex’s name again.“Ya, but still. He wasn’t wrong.”





	You Will Fly To Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



Bruce did not contemplate death often. Not because he didn’t think he would die someday, but he just figured that eventuality would come. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d see his parents, but Bruce was rarely lucky. 

He did think about death at Clark’s funeral. It turned out that even Clark’s death had been an inevitability.

The thought didn’t make the funeral any brighter, but at least Bruce could try to stave off the guilt and the grief for a little bit longer.

Bruce wondered what a Kryptonian funeral was like, but then he figured Clark would be glad none of them knew. A farmer’s son would surely want a farmer’s send off. 

___

Wayne Enterprises was hosting another huge gala downstairs, but Bruce was busy downing whiskey in the penthouse. It was hard attending these functions sober. Everyone expected him to act a certain way, flirt to a certain amount of people, and all that required a whole lot of energy. Energy Bruce just didn’t have after Doomsday. After Clark was buried.

“Master Wayne?” Alfred called out as he walked up the stairs. “Did you happen to invite some Avengers to this party?”

“I always invite some of them, Alfred, just for the publicity. But they never RSVP.” Bruce answered absent-mindedly as he swirled the ice cubes around in his glass. 

“Well, I think one showed up, Sir.” Alfred was grinning maniacally, clearly amused. 

“Which one?” Now Bruce was curious. He put his glass down and followed Alfred back down the stairs.

“I think you can guess, sir.” 

Bruce had studied the Avengers, of course. There was one particular Avenger with a kind face, large muscles, and a can-do attitude that really irked Bruce the wrong way. Guys who thought they could always tell right from wrong, guys who didn’t have to run from their demons – guys like Steve Rogers were trouble. The latest Avengers debacle proved that to Bruce. 

If Bruce was in a conversational mood, he might have admitted that Steve Rogers reminded him of Clark. 

They entered the glittering and dimly lit dance floor and Bruce adjusted his cufflinks subconsciously. A large crowd had gathered at the entrance, and a bunch of people had their cell phones up to take photos. 

Bruce could make out a blond head making its way to the center of the room, and Bruce held his breath. The crowd parted, and there was Captain America in all his white and blue glory. The white star on his chest reflected the light in the room, but that was nothing compared to his blinding smile. His large shoulder muscles stood out prominently, and Bruce was sure Steve would have passed for a Kryptonian. Or a reporter. Really, either alter-ego would do tonight. 

“Alright everyone, chill out. You’ve seen a celebrity before,” Bruce called out to thin out the crowd.

“Bruce Wayne. So nice to meet you,” the Captain said, extending his hand. For a heartbeat, Bruce wondered if the Captain knew about his other identity, but when Bruce grabbed his hand, the Captain's grip was gentle. Captain America’s sparkling blue eyes roamed over Bruce’s body, giving him a once over. But not in the way a man sizes up another man before a fight. His look was too easy and obvious, like he already liked what he saw. Bruce nearly shivered. 

“Likewise, Cap. Welcome to Wayne Manor.” 

“Please, call me Steve. Shall we get a drink?” Steve motioned towards the bar, and Bruce nodded. Of course _Steve_ was a fucking gentleman.

Bruce and Steve both took a seat on the barstools. Steve ordered them both whiskeys, and nodded over at the crowd. Bruce looked over his shoulder, and a bunch of people were openly staring.

“They’ll get bored eventually,” Steve offered with a shrug.

“Not likely,” Bruce said before he brought his lips to his glass. He sipped slowly, and tracked Steve watching him.

“So do you dance?” Steve asked, sipping his own drink.

Bruce snorted. “That’s not why you came tonight. I’m sure Captain America has better things to do than hang out in Gotham.” 

“I do apologize for not RSVPing.” Steve smiled ruefully and ducked his head, like he actually felt bad about it.

Bruce waived his hand to signify it wasn’t a big deal. Seemed like all the rumors about Steve Rogers being a fine upstanding citizen where true. 

“I’m on leave. A little R&R was in order. I try to get as far from the Avengers as possible when I’m on vacation. It’s hard to just be Steve when I’m around them.”

“You guys aren’t close?” Bruce was genuinely curious. The Avengers had the kind of team that made Bruce jealous sometimes.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. It’s just, there’s so much grandstanding that goes into our jobs. Having super strength means everyone expects you to have all the answers, to always make the right decisions. It gets lonely, being so different. In Gotham, I can sort of be whomever I want.”

Bruce tried not to take his comment about Gotham too personally. Nearly everyone treated Gotham like the seedy city it had been, rather than the city it could be. Bruce idly wondered what Steve would have said to him had he known he was Batman.

“Not everyone can be a superhero. That sounds like a tough gig,” Bruce intoned as he sipped his drink. He still wasn’t sure who Steve wanted him to be, considering the guy was on the verge of spilling his guts to a virtual stranger. Maybe he just wanted a friend. 

“But I mean, you did come in full uniform,” Bruce pointed out jokingly, attempting to brighten the mood. Besides, he needed to steer the conversation away from alter-ego talk before he let slip something he didn’t want to.

“Eh, people would recognize me anyway. And my dress shirt was dirty,” Steve shrugged. 

Steve put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce almost cringed. People didn’t touch him very often. But Steve kept smiling like it was in his job description. Hell, maybe it was. But Steve had been nothing but polite the whole night. And damn if that didn’t remind him of Clark. Maybe Bruce could roll with this situation.

“I’m a pretty good shoulder to lean on, if that’s what you need tonight,” Bruce lied. Steve didn’t loosen his grip and Bruce leaned forward into his space.

“You ever thought about growing facial hair?” Steve asked, his voice wistful. 

Oh. There was always an ulterior motive, and Bruce just found out Steve’s.

“It doesn’t really go with the young playboy image,” Bruce joked. But he watched Steve’s eyes get darker, more serious. Bruce downed his drink. 

Steve moved his hand onto Bruce’s knee, and said “I’m pretty old, you know.” 

That’s the line he went with? Bruce was drunk enough to find that amusing.

“I’m also fairly strong,” Steve was staring at him like he wanted him to understand. To _really_ understand. The blood started to rush to Bruce’s dick, because he definitely understood.

And Bruce hadn’t gotten laid for two months, three weeks and three days. Coincidentally the same amount of time that Clark had been dead.

“That’s okay,” Bruce said. Steve slid his hand up a little higher, and Bruce didn’t stop him. 

“And you remind me of someone.” 

Bruce leaned forward to whisper in Steve’s ear. “I was going to say the same about you.” 

“You want to get out of here?” Steve asked, earnest. 

“Upstairs,” Bruce said as he lead the way. He felt slightly dirty, like he was taking advantage of Lady Liberty herself. But Steve was a big boy and could make his own decisions. Besides, Bruce could use a little… release. And if he fucking thought of Clark while he was doing this, no one would be the wiser.

Bruce tossed his jacket on the bed before he turned to face Steve. 

“Loosen your tie.” Steve’s voice was thick and he spoke slowly. Bruce had a moment of indecision, but Steve’s uniform hugged him in all the right places and Bruce was _thirsty_. 

“Feel free to boss me around, Steve.” Bruce pulled out his shirttails, unbuttoned his vest, and loosened his tie as he sat on his bed. “But I’m not going to call you Sir.”

“Such a smartass,” Steve hummed, rubbing his cock through his uniform. 

“You just came here to fuck, didn’t you, _Captain_?” Bruce teased. Bruce’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he was having trouble undoing his shirt buttons. 

“Bruce Wayne has a certain… reputation.” Steve unzipped his uniform to pull out his cock. 

“And what reputation is that?” Bruce asked as he stared at Captain America’s dick. Bruce was surprised that it looked fairly normal.

“You like being on your knees,” Steve said, grinning wickedly. 

Clearly Bruce had underestimated him. Bruce’s body was responding to the contrast between Steve’s good guy demeanor and the downright devilish talk, and suddenly Bruce was overwhelmed with the need to make Steve cum. 

If he could make Steve fall apart, lose his composure, mar his appearance, than he could prove that no one was perfect. If Steve came undone, maybe Bruce would stop seeing Clark in Steve’s face.

Bruce climbed onto the bed, got down on his back, and reached for the lube in his nightstand drawer. 

“It’s okay if you don’t look at me while we fuck,” Bruce said simply. Steve didn’t reply. 

\---

Steve left his number. 

Bruce knew it wasn’t worth calling him back. He did have a reputation to protect, after all.

\---

Two days later, Bruce was sitting at his glass table in the lake house, sipping coffee, when he found out from Alfred. He had expected Alfred to say something to him about Steve Rogers. The guy had made the front page of every paper from The Daily Planet to the New York Times, and Wayne Enterprise’s charity had received an influx of donations in the past two days. Clearly, Bruce had been right about the publicity. 

But no, Alfred had much better news to share. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. Surprised, hurt, _guilty_. All emotions that Bruce was already intimately familiar with tamping down. Above all that, there was something like relief. As if there was sunshine warming up his insides, even though it was pouring down rain outside. 

“Master Wayne, did you hear what I said?” Alfred’s brow was furrowed and he reached out to Bruce. 

“Thanks, Alfred.” Bruce was tight-lipped in his dismissal. Today was not a day for Alfred’s words of wisdom. There was nothing else that could be said.

Clark Kent was alive. 

Alfred found out since he started keeping an eye on the Kent house. Seems like Clark must have just busted right out of his coffin and dug his way through six feet of dirt to claw his way back to humanity. Why he would work so hard to come back to a world that didn’t waste a second turning their collective back on him, Bruce was hard-pressed to understand.

Bruce was always surprised by Clark’s abilities. He supposed he should be more surprised by the fact that he was an alien from another planet, but humanity had guessed there were other life forms for decades. Other life forms that looked like humans and talked like humans but could move mountains? That seemed a little far-fetched, and yet Bruce had laid eyes on the guy’s abilities several times.

He had also laid eyes on some other things, some other very desirable qualities, like how physical strength was just an obvious feature of Clark's, as obvious as something like hair color. You just couldn’t help but take it in when you looked at Clark.

It was yet to be seen whether Superman would rise again, so maybe Clark would live the rest of his life in obscurity, enjoying his death in a way he could never enjoy his life.

Right. 

If Bruce knew anything about the guy, Clark wasn’t going to just let himself fall off the map and disappear.

It had been two months, three weeks, and five days. 

Two months, three weeks and five days for Bruce to mull over what weapons he should have built, what he should have asked Diana Prince, how hard he should have pressed Lex Luthor. What he would have wanted Clark to say, before. Before the kryptonite and the fight and Doomsday. 

As if there was something Clark could have said to stop it all. 

\---

A week later, and Superman still hadn’t made his triumphant return. Bruce had gotten word that Clark Kent was back at the Daily Planet, which really didn’t make sense to Bruce. Most of the time Bruce felt like _Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises_ was his alter-ego and he would have abandoned it long ago if he didn’t need to change out the clothes under his armor and raise money for said armor.

Lately, Bruce had been sleeping even more terribly than usual. Which was saying something, since Bruce getting a good night’s sleep was a rare thing. 

That night, Bruce kept his bedroom side door open. Maybe the sounds of Gotham would help lull him to sleep. 

It didn’t work. At about 2AM, Bruce jolted awake with sweat dripping from his brow. And he could have sworn he saw a shadow outside his door. 

When he got up to check, no one was there.

\---

Two nights later, and Bruce was chained to a post. He could just make out Clark, in his Superman outfit, his face angry. Serpents were crawling across the floor towards him, and his parents were just out of reach, the serpents engulfing them.

He could hear someone screaming his name, over and over.

“BRUCE!” 

Bruce jolted awake to two strong arms holding him down against the bed. He looked from side to side, and started thrashing his body in a panic.

“Bruce, it’s Clark,” Clark said, still gripping Bruce’s arms.

“Jesus Christ, what do you think you’re doing?” 

Bruce stopped fighting the grip, and Clark let him go. He was hovering over Bruce’s bed, studying Bruce’s face. That’s when Bruce noticed Clark was just wearing a light blue T-shirt that hugged his pecks, and gray shorts. And no glasses. Bruce had never seen him so underdressed.

Clark looked a little sheepish.

“I, uh. You were screaming my name?”

“I was?” Bruce sat up, and reached for his sheets. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and he was suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

“It’s not the first time,” Clark said as he took a seat on the edge of Bruce’s bed. “And I don’t mind the scars.” Clark gestured to Bruce’s chest.

“Wait, you can hear me?” Bruce stopped grabbing at his sheets, suddenly intrigued by Clark’s abilities.

“From Metropolis, yeah. Honestly I have to try hard to tune out screams, or be asleep. Besides, I recognize your voice.”

“So you weren’t asleep?” Bruce wasn’t sure whether to be touched by Clark’s concern, or furious that the guy had barged in on him. They haven’t even talked since Clark came back from the dead, and now he was just going to stop by his room at night?

“Nights are hardest. It’s so loud,” Clark said honestly. Clark shrugged his shoulders and Bruce almost reached out to touch. Almost said he was glad Clark wasn’t dead. Almost invited Clark to stay, just for a little while. 

“Well I think I’m good here, so-” Bruce said instead. 

“Right. Well, you know where to find me.” Clark popped up off the bed and jumped out the side door with all the speed of a Kryptonian. Bruce grimaced. That could have gone better.

\---

Five nights later, and Bruce shook himself awake. This time, the nightmare featured The Joker slowly cutting off all of Alfred’s toes. Bruce was locked in some kind of water tank.

Bruce blinked a few times, and there was Clark, perched on the edge of his bed and looking concerned.

Bruce scrubbed a hand through his hair as he sat up.

“I wasn’t yelling, was I?”

“Well, it sounded like crying, which seemed different,” Clark said, “That’s why I came to investigate.”

“You know, you could just come over during the day like a normal human,” Bruce plowed on even though he saw Clark grimace at the phrase ‘normal human’. “Maybe then you could have a conversation with me, instead of surprising me.”

“I didn’t think… It’s not every day that a guy comes back from the dead. I figured we’d keep our distance from each other.”

Bruce huffed a laugh. 

“Cool strategy son, except for the whole popping in on people at night part.”

Clark rolled his eyes. 

“Stop saying my name, and I’ll stop coming, old man,” Clark teased.

“I _am_ glad, you know,” Bruce blurted out.

Clark raised an eyebrow quizzically. 

“That you’re not dead,” Bruce finished.

“Ah, see. That wasn’t so hard, Mr. Wayne.” Clark patted Bruce’s knee with a laugh, and got up to leave.

“What happened to your super suit?” Bruce asked to distract himself from the way his skin was buzzing where Clark had touched him.

Clark was already gone. 

\---

Bruce couldn’t plan his dreams, but if he could he would have chosen to have a nightmare just so he could talk to Clark. He liked feeling like someone was watching out for him. If Bruce was being honest, any other person crashing through his door at night would have gotten a punch in the throat, but Bruce didn’t dwell on that fact too much.

Superman still hadn’t returned to Metropolis, and people really believed he was dead. Bruce figured it was better not to blow Clark’s cover and show up in Metropolis. 

So Bruce waited, and he dreamed. He woke up with an erection nearly every day for a week, which wasn’t unusual in and of itself but Bruce could remember some of the dreams. Some of the dreams featured Clark, and chains, and kryptonite. In these dreams, Bruce was in control. 

Bruce almost felt guilty. 

\---

Eight nights later, Bruce has a gut-wrenching nightmare. There were dead bodies everywhere, and Bruce was wading through them. Bats were flying at his face, obscuring his vision. And then Bruce started flying above the scene, looking down as if there was nothing he could do. He saw Clark among the bodies.

“Shh. Bruce. I’m here.” Clark was holding him against his chest, rocking him. Bruce remembered to breath in and out through his noise.

When Bruce’s heartbeat slowed, he pulled away slightly to look at Clark’s face. His earnest expression coupled with the bags under his eyes nearly choked Bruce up. The guy must have been staying up to check up on him.

Bruce reached out to put his hand on Clark’s thigh, and Clark’s eyes grew as big as saucers.

“I’m still with Lois,” Clark said in a rush, but made no move to pull away. 

Bruce immediately tried to backtrack, searching for an excuse as he attempted o pull away from Clark. Clark held him steady, though.

“No, I didn’t mean you couldn’t touch me,” Clark said in a whisper. 

Bruce was thoroughly confused, but decided to keep his hands to himself as he pulled away. Clark let Bruce go this time, looking disappointed. 

Clark was still wearing gray shorts, but now he had on a white v-neck that highlighted his broad chest. Bruce pointedly stared for a minute, to see how Clark would react. Clark either didn’t notice, or wanted to act like he didn’t. 

“I have an invitation for you,” Bruce remembered. He reached over to his nightstand and handed Clark the envelope that Bruce had left there.

Clark smiled as he opened it.

“You invite aliens to Wayne Enterprises fundraisers now?”

“No, I invite reporters,” Bruce said matter-of-factly. Clark laughed, and the sound made Bruce’s heart feel light. 

\---

A few days later, and Bruce was dragging himself upstairs, holding the wound on his left arm. The fucker had shot him a few times, but one bullet had pierced through Bruce’s armor and he had bled all over the Batmobile. 

Alfred was on a trip halfway across the world to secure new parts for a new Batmobile design, so Bruce was on his own. 

For keeping Gotham safe during another bank robbery, he’d gotten a bullet to the arm. And now he was going to have to pull it out himself, and clean up the blood he was trailing all over the house. 

Bruce was pissed.

“Fuck,” Bruce yelled at no one in particular. He ripped off his shirt, grabbed the medical kit and situated himself on the couch. He took a few deep breaths before he started searching for the forceps. 

He was stopped mid-search when someone knocked on the door. 

“What the fuck now,” Bruce huffed under his breath as he put down the kit and got up to answer the door. Normally he would have checked the video feed first, but he had already gotten up and didn’t want to waste time. If there was someone trying to kill him, they probably wouldn’t have knocked.

He flung the door open to Clark’s smiling face. Bruce was not nearly as surprised as he should have been. Mostly because he had grown accustomed to Clark showing up when he wanted to, and the searing pain in his arm was really clouding his ability to think rationally. 

“I heard you were in some trouble,” Clark said as he walked in.

“Ugh,” Bruce groaned.

“Oh, just sit down.” Clark motioned for the couch and then grabbed the forceps out of the medical kit.

“Have you done this before?” Bruce asked, wary.

“This may be hard to believe, but there were guns in Smallville too.”

Bruce didn’t press any further. He just gritted his teeth and looked away, and Clark plunged the forceps into the wound. 

“FUCK,” Bruce cursed. It hurt like hell, but Clark was quick.

“I would make an old man joke, but I feel like you’re not in the mood,” Clark said as he dropped the bullet into Bruce’s palm. 

“You would be correct,” Bruce hissed. Clark wiped Bruce’s wound with antiseptic, and applied some anti-bacterial cream. Clearly, he had done this before. It was hard to imagine Clark vulnerable, but maybe he had done this for someone else.

“I’m RSVPing to your party, by the way,” Clark mentioned absent-mindedly as he started to wrap Bruce’s wound, “If you can still make it.”

“Oh, shut it,” Bruce groused. “Maybe if you put on the super suit, there would be less guys with guns coming after me.”

Clark stilled for a moment before he continued dressing the wound. He sighed deeply, and then looked at Bruce.

“Superman will be back. Just not yet,” Clark slowly answered. Bruce immediately felt bad about what he’d said.

“All in due time.” Bruce attempted to sympathize, but his words sounded sarcastic to his ears. 

The pair of them stayed silent as Clark finished bandaging Bruce. Clark squeezed Bruce’s hand, and then he was gone. 

\---

The night of the gala a month or so later, Bruce was nervous, which was a rare feeling for him. Bruce sensed that tonight was going to special. Clark had made it seem like he was going to make a point of showing up. Bruce couldn’t decide whether he should be drunk, so he kept sipping on the same drink. He distracted himself by mingling with the other guests, and he tried to keep himself from glancing at the front door.

Finally, Clark walked in to Wayne manor, and nobody noticed him except Bruce. Clark was wearing a simple back suit and a crisp white shirt that had the first two buttons unbuttoned. Clark’s glasses were perched firmly on his nose. The suit fit him perfectly, and Bruce was a little breathless.

Clark stuck out his hand when Bruce approached.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m Clark Kent. Daily Planet.” 

“Clark, what is…” Bruce trailed off, confused. Clark shook his head slightly and winked at Bruce. 

“Oh, I believe we’ve met before. At Luthor’s fundraiser. Nice to see you again,” Clark tried again. 

Clark wanted to play games, it seemed. Well, two could play that game.

“Very nice to see you again, Clark. Glad you could make it. Would you like a drink?”

“Sure, Mr. Wayne. Please lead the way.”

With Clark being extra-polite, Bruce was reminded about the last time he bought drinks for a man at his gala. 

But this time was already different. Clark had come in street clothes, and was playing off his completely human persona. Bruce was sober. And Bruce was in a happier place, mentally. 

Bruce strode up to the bar and ordered two martinis. Might as well act classy. 

“So, Mr. Wayne, tell me about the fundraiser.” Clark’s eyes were dark and goading, and Bruce was fairly certain Clark did not want to talk about the fundraiser.

“I believe we’ve released a statement. Honestly, I just show up at these things for the drinks and the company.” Bruce decided to play up his rich-boy attitude. He was rewarded with a downright devious smile from Clark.

Seems like this farm boy wasn’t so innocent after all. 

“Then tell me, how’s the company so far?”

“It’s gotten considerably better since you walked in,” Bruce easily replied with the obvious follow-on. Maybe that had been Clark’s plan all along, to make this easier for both of them.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, surely you have more important guests to talk to then the press,” Clark replied as he sipped his martini.

“Clark, I’ll let you in on a secret,” Bruce leaned forward to press his lips to the shell of Clark’s ear, “I will do just about anything for some good press.”

When Bruce pulled back, he caught Clark blushing, and he was prepared to abandon the game. But Clark smiled at him invitingly, and put his hand on the small of Bruce’s back. He slowly swirled the stirring stick in his martini with his tongue, while Bruce watched.

“Touché,” Bruce said with a smile. 

“So, what does a millionaire do with their spare time?” Clark asked.

“I have a fantastic pool, for starters. And there have been some really great video games released lately.” 

“How very… normal,” Clark teased. “I’m afraid I’m going to need more than that if you want a puff piece, Mr. Wayne.”

“I actually like modern art, and I have some very interesting paintings in my bedroom, if you wanted to check them out,” Bruce stepped it up, hoping Clark would play along.

“Fascinating. Let’s see them.” Clark put down his drink, and Bruce did the same.

Bruce headed up the stairs from the hall, up to his bedroom. He could hear Clark’s footsteps behind him, and Bruce’s heart rate started to increase rapidly.

Clark shut the door behind them as they entered his bedroom and strode around the room, his hands behind his back. Bruce did have a few modern art pieces on the walls, but he had let Alfred pick them out.

“I am curious about you Mr. Wayne, since you can’t possibly just hang out at the manor all the time.”

“Some people have secrets that are likely not worth publishing, you know,” Bruce said in response.

Bruce stepped forward, into Clark’s space, and before he could change his mind, he kissed Clark on the mouth. Clark enthusiastically kissed him back, his tongue a rogue explorer. Bruce felt weightless, but then he realized it was because Clark had picked him up to place him on his bed. 

Clark palmed Bruce’s dick through his slacks and Bruce moaned around Clark’s mouth.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne. Looks like you are already ready,” Clark hummed as he started to undo the buttons on Bruce’s shirt. 

“Wait, get on the bed. Sit against the headboard,” Bruce ordered, his voice deep. 

Clark raised his eyebrow, but did as he was told. Bruce wanted to control the situation, see if he could make Clark cum. He wanted it to be quick and efficient, but he wanted to be able to see Clark when it happened.

Bruce took off his tie, tied Clark’s wrists together and then tied his wrists to the headboard. They both knew Clark could have busted out if he wanted to, but Bruce trusted he wouldn’t.

“You can only call me Mr. Wayne, understand?”

Clark nodded eagerly. Bruce contemplated going down to the basement to get the last sliver of Kryptonite he had saved, but that could wait. He was in a little bit of a hurry.

Bruce unzipped Clark’s slacks to pull out Clark’s half-hard cock. He left all his other clothes. Bruce started to press his thumb just under the crown of Clark’s cock, and Clark hissed. Bruce paused to pull off his own shirt, and he watched as Clark stared at the large scar on his chest. 

“Surely you’ve seen a scar before,” Bruce said as he continued playing with the crown of Clark’s cock until he was fully erect.

“But Mr. Wayne, yours is so big, like you were in a fight.” 

Instead of answering, Bruce wrapped his lips around the head of Clark’s cock and licked at the tender spot just underneath his crown. Clark moaned, and Bruce sucked Clark’s cock into his mouth. He licked along the shaft, and felt along the veins there. Clark was squirming, and he had started to sweat. Bruce smiled around his cock. 

Bruce bobbed up and down, and let Clark’s cock slide all the way down his throat. Bruce gagged on it, and Clark was starting to pant heavily.

Bruce pulled off and sat up. Clark already looked disheveled and his hair was falling into his face. His glasses were sliding down his nose, and Clark’s eyes had been closed.

Bruce reached up and wrapped his right hand around Clark’s throat.

Clark immediately opened his eyes to stare at Bruce. Clark was definitely surprised, but not scared. 

“Tell me what you want, Clark,” Bruce ordered as he reached down with his left hand to stroke Clark’s cock. 

“Mr. Wayne…” Clark gasped. Bruce tightened his grip on Clark’s throat, and jerked his cock faster.

Clark gasped and bucked up into Bruce’s hand. Bruce straddled his legs to stop him from moving. Clark was starting to look desperate, and Bruce’s cock was starting to hurt where it was jammed against his zipper. 

Bruce let him go, and Clark took a big gulp of air. Bruce freed his cock before he went down on Clark again. He licked along the shaft, just teasing.

“Please, Mr. Wayne.” 

Bruce started licking even slower before he sat up again.

“Please what? You still haven’t said what you want. You’re not being a very good slut,” Bruce purred as he breathed on the tip of Clark’s cock. Clark acted like he was trying to buck his hips up, but he was still being gentle enough not to break free. 

“Make me cum, Mr. Wayne.” Clark’s glasses were at the tip of his nose, so Bruce reached up and pushed them onto his face.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Bruce couldn’t resist saying before he swallowed Clark’s cock down his throat. Clark’s moans of pleasure egged Bruce on, as he pressed his tongue against the head of Clark’s head and used his right hand to jerk the base of Clark’s cock. 

Bruce could feel Clark’s body tense, and Bruce did his best to coordinate his tongue movements with his hand. 

“You’re gonna make me-” 

Clark came down Bruce’s throat, and Bruce sputtered a little, but swallowed. 

“Fuck,” Clark breathed, smiling. 

Bruce pulled off, and gripped his own cock. His body was wound up, like he was going to explode. As soon as he touched himself, he felt his orgasm building.

Clark looked at him quizzically before realization dawned.

“Do you want me to help?” Clark made like he was going to bust out of his restraints.

Bruce looked down at Clark’s cock, nearly purple and still hard. The head was shiny with spit and cum, and it stood out starkly where it lay against his white shirt. Drops of sweat rolled down the side of Clark’s face, and his harms were tied above his head, which made his shoulder muscles stand out and stretch his shirt. 

“Don’t. Move.” 

Bruce stared, and he twisted his hand on his cock, and Clark watched, looking both turned on and amused.

“Call me Mr. Wayne again,” Bruce practically begged. 

“Mr. Wayne, looks like you’re the dirty slut.”

Bruce didn’t catch what else Clark said, because he was cumming. Bruce blacked out briefly, and felt himself sink down into the bed next to Clark.

After a minute, he reached up to untie Clark’s restraints, and Clark surged forward to wrap his arms around Bruce as soon as he was free.

“There’s cum everywhere,” Bruce commented, feeling sleepy. Clark laughed. 

“You better clean up, then,” Clark said as he got up to tuck his dick back into his pants.

“Oh, fuck you.” Bruce moaned. That’s when Bruce realized Clark was preparing to leave.

“Where are you going?” He asked, trying not to act too concerned. 

“I’ve got to take care of some things. I’ll be back,” Clark said. 

“Like hell you do, asshole.” 

But Clark was already gone.

\--

The next morning, Bruce woke up to Clark, sitting at the edge of his bed. 

This time, Clark had a hot coffee in one hand, the New York Times in the other. And he was wearing the super suit.

“Good morning, sunshine. I think we have work to do today. I scanned the papers,” Clark said cheerfully as he handed Bruce the paper and the coffee. 

Bruce was a little dumbfounded, considering he was sure Clark had blown him off last night.

“Uh, do you ever sleep?” Bruce asked, genuinely concerned. He put down the coffee and started to unfold the paper.

“I don’t have to sleep as much as you do.” Clark said it like it was obvious. 

“What about the suit? Superman is back?” Bruce flipped through the paper, because he already knew the answer.

“Obviously. And I talked to Lois.” Clark looked away, suddenly shy. 

“Oh?” Bruce didn’t want to pry, so he kept it simple.

“Yeah.” Clark smiled, bright and big and hopeful. 

“Okay.” Bruce said it and meant it. He decided he was going to roll with this. 

As he was flipping through the paper, he landed on the entertainment section. The headline said “Stark and Rogers, Reconciled?” and there was a picture of Steve and Tony, smiling with their arms around each other. Bruce nearly laughed. Maybe everyone could get their happy ending, at least for today. 

Bruce looked up and caught Clark looking at him. Clark ducked his gaze, and started to float around his room, touching random things. 

“You know what’s funny? Lex said I would fly to you,” Clark mused out loud.

“Among other things, I’m sure.” Bruce rolled his eyes. It would be fine by him if they never mentioned Lex’s name again.

“Ya, but still. He wasn’t wrong.”

Clark put his feet on the ground and turned around to face Bruce, a shy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Somehow he could still look innocent, even in the suit. 

“Feel free to interrupt my nightmares anytime,” Bruce said, feeling like he should seize the moment.

Clark nodded solemnly at that, and Bruce couldn’t help but grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for requesting this! I loved all your prompts, and I intended to get dirtier, but then my backstory got the better of me. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
